


Liar

by Viking_woman



Series: Love Is Not A Victory March [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anger, Angst, Dom Lavellan, Exhibitionism, F/M, Female Solo, defiance wank, light bondage fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 21:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12826164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/pseuds/Viking_woman
Summary: After Trespasser, Iwyn Lavellan is angry with Solas, and she misses him terribly.Prequel, of a sort, to Temerity, but you do not need to read this first.





	Liar

She keeps the Eluvian at Skyhold. Cullen is adamant that is a security risk, and he is right. She doesn’t think it matters much. If Solas – no, Fen’Harel –  wants to enter Skyhold, he would.  

Some days she goes to look at the big mirror, and she presses her fingers against the glass. Morrigan still hold control of it, or so she says. It’s a gesture of good will, she thinks, or maybe a reluctance to let go.  He could take it if he wanted, he always was the best at manipulating that place in between. She knows this. She hears it as a whisper in her head.

She doesn’t go here when she is angry. She goes here when she is sad, when all she can think of is his smile, his voice. Deep down, she knows every Eluvian is  _his_ , just waiting for his power. It makes her feel like he is close, as if he exists in the same place as her.

The glass is dull and unresponsive, all she sees is herself, ragged. Alone.

She wonders if he can see through it. If he lurks in there, in that strange place. She thinks she saw him in her dream once, but she tried to shut him out. She does not want her loneliness, but at least it is her own.

Why does he dream of her? Does he come to the mirror to try and find her? What does he see? She remembers how he used to look at her. With love. With desire. Would he still look at her like that?

She runs her hand over her breast, her nipples hard under her soft shirt. She remembers his touch, gentle and teasing and rough. She pinches the peak under her fingers, and a soft gasp escapes her lips.

She wants him to see, to look at her like this. To see what he left behind. To see what power she holds. To see her aroused without him.

“Do you see me, Dread Wolf? Do you see me now?” she whispers at her own reflection in the mirror. Hard nipples raised beneath her shirt, her fingers teasing. Her lips parted, her face flushed.  

She slides her hand into her pants, and she imagine him looking at her, his piercing eyes following the movement of her hand.

Solas out there somewhere, encased in hard armor, removed and remote. She is here, soft and touchable, yet out of his reach.

She is wet already when her middle fingers press on her swollen flesh, slides along her slit. She presses on her clit, and drags her fingers lower, where she is already slick.

Her eyes close, and she thinks of him smirking as she touches herself. That sly and pleased grin when he finds the spot that makes her squirm. The playfulness in his eyes. She misses it terribly, and she sighs. She opens her eyes again, looks at her image in the mirror, presses her nipples against the cold glass.

He would not be smirking for long if her could see her now. His gaze would be hunger, his eyes devouring her. She imagines his coming towards her, reaching for her. And she would stop him. “You cannot touch _”_ , she whispers. She would deny him.

Her pants are restricting the movement of her hand, so slides them down her leg, and she keeps thinking about Solas stalking the mirror, so she turns and bends at the waist to take them off completely. She sinks to her knees, and rests her head on her discarded pants, ass in the air, exposed to the blank surface behind her, to where she imagines him staring. Her sex is throbbing, and she draws her fingers along her opening, her clit, teasing herself. It feels deranged, obscene. The small wet sounds as she plays herself are the only noises in the empty chamber.

She imagines him looking at her. Yearning to touch, but trapped on the other side of the mirror. She pushes two fingers into herself, rocking her hips back. She thinks how it must look in the mirror, and she clenches around her own fingers.

“Do you remember how it felt, to be inside me?” she asks the lonely room. “I remember feeling your cock in me, so hard.” She does, she remembers how he filled her, his hardness sliding into her, his eyes open wide in wonder.

He would whisper sweet words of love into her ears, but if her saw her now, would he curse at his own stubbornness? She hopes so.

The vision in her mind changes, and she no longer sees him reaching for her, he is on a chair, naked, his hands tied behind his back. She imagines his cock hard, jutting out from his groin. She thinks of how it would leak precum, and she wouldn’t touch him, how she would touch herself with him watching. He might beg and moan and beg again, unable to reach for his own release.

She turns to sit up, and puts her hand under her shirt, pinching her nipples. She has no other hand to touch herself with, and the knowledge is hard and brittle beneath her need.

“Watch me, Fen’Harel,” she mocks into the emptiness, every stroke on her nipple sending sparks down her skin. She is so close, and she puts her hand back between her legs. She slides, and presses and grinds against her hand, her hips moving in purple waves. Her eyes are closed now, and she sees the image of him bound and hard and his blush spreading down his shoulders, his chest, panting in futility, and then she comes and she gasps his name, softly, as if she still wants to love him.

Slowly, she stills her movement as her orgasm subsides, rolling away. She feels sated and ashamed and worn. She should know better than to do this. She should be fighting him, not thinking of him naked. She will not entertain such thoughts again.

She lets out a dry laugh, disappearing into the void _._ Liar, liar, liar.

 _The Dread Wolf cannot abide others trying to play his games_.  _Do not use trickery and lies or He will take you away_ , her Keeper would scold her brother and his friend. Never her, she never was liar. She wonders what Deshanna would think of her now.

If only the stories were true and she could summon him with a simple lie. If only she could burn the memory of his love from her heart.

Her fingers are wet with her own slick and she makes a rude gesture at the Eluvian.

She rests her forehead against the glass.

_I hate you._

_I’m a liar._


End file.
